


Tolls of Death and Choirs of Deaf

by ratboyrussell



Series: Sakusa and Atsumu's Office Misadventures [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Office, Hook-Up, How Do I Tag, Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, Mild Language, Miya Atsumu is a Little Shit, One Shot, Post-Time Skip, Sakusa Kiyoomi is Bad at Feelings, Trapped In Elevator, sakusa doesn't like the dry cleaner, sakusa's done with everything, they aren't really trapped it just feels that way, this is one of those fics where i genuinely don't know what to tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 11:14:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29965524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ratboyrussell/pseuds/ratboyrussell
Summary: God, Sakusa couldscream."Fancy meetin' you here," Atsumu practicallysings.(in which Sakusa goes for a job interview and gets into the elevator with an old hook-up.)
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Series: Sakusa and Atsumu's Office Misadventures [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2208639
Comments: 4
Kudos: 51





	Tolls of Death and Choirs of Deaf

God, Sakusa could _scream._

He has never been one for large outbursts, he prides himself on his ability to remain calm and collected in dire situations. He prides himself on his ability to accomplish just that, while not seeming too robotic or stiff. He knows when a situation calls for enthusiasm, and is fully capable of providing it—if not a little begrudgingly. 

Though, he has also been told to _loosen up._

Repeatedly. 

Mainly by the man he is now stuck in a _goddamn elevator_ with. 

"Fancy meetin' you here," Atsumu practically _sings_. In his everlasting torment to Sakusa, he _sings_. A tone-deaf choral—a cacophony of annoyance—all to the audience of one Sakusa Kiyoomi. It would be an honour if Atsumu wasn’t so insufferable. 

Atsumu's deep hazel eyes sparkle menacingly in the goldish-fluorescence of the enclosed space. He leans back against the hand railing nailed into the wall, legs kicked out in front of him and crossed at the heels. His black dress shoes kick around lazily to a tune only he can hear. One of his heels makes dull tappings on the beige carpet, there is no pattern—Sakusa notices with a curl of his lip—it is fully random. 

Tone-deaf, and without rhythm. 

At the sight of Sakusa entering the elevator, Atsumu runs a hand through his bleach-blond hair, mussing it gently in a way that doesn’t even look mussed. 

God, Sakusa could really _scream._

Sakusa _will not_ scream, however much he wants to. Because this is a public space, and he is a professional. He will instead question silently why Atsumu of all people works in an office building (and _why_ does it have to be the one Sakusa has a job interview with?). Not even a fun office building—because it's easy to picture Atsumu as an overly enthusiastic manager in an office with an ungodly amount of potted plants and where all the employees sit on yoga balls and bean bag chairs—a simple industrial high rise. 

What had Atsumu said one time? As a kid he wanted to be a professional athlete. What sport was it? Sakusa can't recall. He assumes the alcohol he'd ingested on those many nights—all too many, now that he's thinking about it—at Atsumu's apartment had muddled his brain, messed with what he could remember about the man. He doesn't mind, it isn't like he cares. That's all over with. 

"So," Atsumu drawls in a way that has to be purposeful, because under all that idiocy he is a conniving bastard and Sakusa knows it, “What brings you here?" 

"Job interview," Sakusa replies. Clipped, measured, precise. 

Atsumu clicks his tongue before flashing a smile that's all teeth and gums and Sakusa can _feel_ it. On his _skin_. Because—regrettably—he does know what that feels like. He knows the exact toothpaste Atsumu uses to get his teeth such a shocking white. He knows exactly the marks they leave behind and what the purple dents look like in dim lighting late at night. He knows what those teeth look like in the shimmering morning sunrise, and now, in the horrid glow of elevator light. 

“Hmm,” Atsumu hums. His teeth disappear behind the rose of his chapped lips (Sakusa knows they are always, without fail, chapped) which he presses into a slight smirk. A knowing smirk that makes Sakusa wonder what exactly this man is up to, because it must be something. 

He’s seen that smirk too many times to let it pass without a second thought. A teasing smile that says Atsumu has some evil plot cooking in that hell hole he calls a brain. Sakusa had been at the mercy of those schemes dozens of times, and sure, they’d all ended pleasurably, but this is in a wholly different context. The two haven’t gotten up to _that_ in weeks. They went their separate ways, as per Sakusa’s request. Because he didn’t need a relationship like that in his life, especially not with a man like Atsumu. 

And that was all. 

“What?” Sakusa snaps. Maybe a lot harsher than he’d intended. Maybe showing more of his grudge than he’d like to admit. Though how could anyone blame him, with that stupid smirk being shoved down his throat like poison. With that gaze winding around his stomach like invisible tendrils. 

“Ah, just that I’m interviewin’ someone for a job today. Funny coincidence, is all.” _Coincidence_. That damned smirk says otherwise. That damned smirk.

Sakusa’s tie feels very tight around his neck. Red, well maintained, dry clean only. He tugs at it absently, careful not to mess too much with the clean press of his outfit. Also dry clean only. But not the dry cleaners near his apartment, that one is no good. Sakusa doesn’t like the man who runs it. He speaks rudely and reeks of cheap cologne, not to mention his fingers are disgustingly yellowed from tobacco. Sakusa absolutely does not trust that man to touch his clothes. 

Strangely, thinking of the dry cleaners calms Sakusa to the point where he no longer feels threatened by his own wardrobe.

“What?” He manages to squeak out as though that is the only word he can say. 

Miya Atsumu, ex-hook-up and the bane of Sakusa’s existence has just told him he will be conducting a job interview. 

“Did ya go deaf?” Atsumu snorts like the pig he is, “I’m in charge of the interview.” 

Sakusa’s eyes become unfocused. He tastes blood before he’s even aware he bit his lip in the first place (his saving grace is the mask that covers this nervous gesture). He hates that he can recall Atsumu doing the exact thing to him. Teeth in his lips and tongue in his mouth.

Copper swirls around his mouth at the same pace his stomach swirls inside of him. 

Sakusa nods. 

Miya Atsumu, ex-hook-up, bane of Sakusa’s existence, and the man he may or may not have caught feelings for before he’d hastily broken off their arrangement, will be conducting his job interview. 

A ding that should sound like music courses through the elevator—which Sakusa had forgotten was even moving in the first place—though in his mind it sounds like a threat. A death toll. 

There are two ways this interview can go, and either way Sakusa is so royally fucked. 

“Hey, Omi,” Sakusa cringes at the nickname as Atsumu slings his head over his own shoulder. He struts out the slowly opening metal doors, “Congrats. Ya got the job.” 

Sakusa is so royally, excruciatingly fucked.

**Author's Note:**

> when i originally had this idea it was supposed to have a ending that felt like an ending but this one's pretty open so i might make this into a series? so stay tuned?


End file.
